


The cookie jar

by orphan_account



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Breasts, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Bondage, Massage, Plot What Plot, Roleplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Pepper are having some fun with their shiny new relationship. Each one writes out a fantasy and puts it in a cookie jar, and once a week they take turns acting on them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will describe a different fantasy, some of which involve the appearance of non-consensual activity. There will be warnings at the top of each chapter.

Pepper stares at the fat cookie jar next to the espresso machine in Tony's workshop.  
  
"I'm going to regret this," she mutters.  
  
"Not for a single second," Tony says from where he's snuck up behind her. His arms go around her and he kisses her cheek. "Tell you what, Potts, why don't you draw the first one and hand it to me. Then we'll both be responsible for whatever ensues."  
  
"And I'll know you're not cheating by picking out one you've already read," she snorts. "All right, then, here goes."  
  
She sticks her hand in the jar and stirs the contents briefly, then fishes out a single folded piece of paper and hands it back to him, closing her eyes.  
  
She can practically *feel* Tony's grin over her shoulder.  
  
"Oh, Potts. You're gonna love this." He sticks the paper in the pocket of his jeans and takes her arm. Steering her over to the stairs, he added, "Run along now, and finish up whatever SI b.s. is still on your docket. Give me...two hours, and then come back here."  
  
The door closes silently behind her, and she goes slowly back up the stairs, muttering, "I am so going to regret this."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first prompt out of Tony and Pepper's cookie jar is "breast fetish".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: This chapter depicts the willing roleplay of a non-consensual bondage scenario. Both characters have agreed to terms in advance, and there is a safeword in place.

"Please," she says hoarsely when he removes the strip of fabric from her mouth. "Please, leave me alone. Take everything in my purse. Anything. Just - don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," purrs the voice of her captor. She feels him take her arm as she stumbles across a cement floor, her hands tied behind her, her knees bound together so that she can barely walk, let alone run or kick. Hands lower her gently to a surprisingly soft, fragrant surface, tenderly separating and retying her wrists and knees with something equally soft but very sturdy, as she finds when she tugs at it experimentally. There's some slack in her bonds; she can move her arms a few inches up and down and from side to side, and bend her legs enough to keep them from getting stretched too tightly or cramping.

"What do you want?" she pleads. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer and she can't keep a moan of fear escaping her lips.

"Don't be afraid," he whispers. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'll let you go when I'm done, safe and sound."

She doesn't want to think of what his definition of safe and sound is. She can hear him moving around the room, bare feet padding here and there, and then the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled and denim pulled off and discarded. If she weren't blindfolded she'd have to shut her eyes now, not wanting to see his approach...

"Please," she begs again. "Let me go."

"I can't," he murmurs. "I need you."

Fingers pluck at the buttons on her blouse, and she turns her head to one side in the only physical protest she can make. She tries to breathe. When her blouse is undone he tugs gently to pull it from the waistband of her skirt, but instead of removing it or even spreading it open he stops and she feels his breath on her skin as he blows gently down the center of her torso where a strip of skin is bared.

"You're not ticklish," he says, sounding relieved. "Good."

For a wild moment she thinks, what kind of kook is this? A tickling bandit?

The moment vanishes when she feels his fingers stroking down along the same swath of skin. They're warm, the pads slightly rough, short nails, and with them he nudges her blouse just a little more, until it's open as far apart as the peaks of her breasts under her bra. She feels his weight shifts as he sits back, as if to contemplate her body, or what little is visible.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks softly, and she nods, confused at his concern, then distracted again at the sensation of wet heat at her throat. He's kissing her pulse points, probably leaning over her as she can't feel any other part of him. She turns her head from side to side but it doesn't deter him, and he kisses and licks his way around her throat and up to tease her earlobe and she can smell him, clean laundry and breath and shampoo.

"What do you want?" she asks again, once again getting no answer.

She feels her blouse being opened, delicately, one side at a time lifted and pulled aside, and she realizes he's doing it with his teeth because she can feel his breath on her skin. She shifts a little and immediately finds herself pinned in place by his head, which he pushes down against her breastbone. His hair is soft and thick and it brushes her clavicle as he bumps her gently.

"God, you smell...so good," he says, inhaling. Her blood runs cold, remembering an evil character in a movie sucking in air, and he actually chuckles and lifts his head.

"Don't worry, I'm not pulling a Dennis Hopper," he assures her, and his head comes back down, this time to run his tongue along the edge of her bra, from the spot where the strap rises over one shoulder, down, down, over, up to the other shoulder, and her terror eases but the confusion remains. If he's going to rape her, why take all this time and effort? If he isn't, then what the hell is he doing?

Those warm fingers are slipping under her bra straps now, tugging them halfway down her upper arms and leaving the cups lying loosely over her breasts. He parts her blouse a bit more and spreads his hands out flat, to slide them under her and unfasten the lingerie. The very sound and sensation of the hooks and eyes separating causes a ripple of arousal to swell in her gut.

He doesn't take off the bra, either. He pulls his hands out and smooths them over her ribs as if guessing her measurements, pushing them just up to the lower edge of the bra and then stroking back down to her waistband, a little over her hipbones, then back up again. If this were a lover doing this to her she'd be hot and wet by now. As it is her traitorous body almost presses into his touch, his hands, and now his mouth as it goes back to nibbling on her bra.

His hands move to lie lightly on her arms, and his lips and tongue move to nudge the bra cups down and off, finally exposing her breasts. She feels his breathing pick up speed, the heat of it radiating over her curves, and she suppresses a shiver as he takes a cup in each hand and snaps the tenuous front seam, flipping the material aside.

"Beautiful," he moans. Maybe he's a voyeur, she thinks, almost hopefully; maybe he'll either just sit and stare at her for a while, or go so far as to masturbate, and then let her go. She tries to calm her breathing.

Something firm and wet touches her nipple and it springs up involuntarily. She tries to twist away only to bump into another touch; he's licking his fingers and teasing her nipples with them, and no matter how much she writhes in her bonds, she can't avoid him. Finally it dawns on her that he's enjoying this game and she lies still, trying not to arch or gasp as her breasts start to tingle and ache with desire.

"You can't help it," he says. "Your body can't lie to me. Your skin is starting to flush...your nipples are getting nice and tight and firm...just now you tried to press your legs together."

Did she? She's annoyed and mortified.

"Just because my body responds instinctively doesn't mean my mind wants you to touch me," she retorts. "Anyone can play with body parts. You can't have what's in my heart."

He chuckles again.

"I don't want your heart," he says. "I don't even want most of your body. It's safe from me."

"What parts of my body do you want?" she whispers, almost fearful of the answer.

His voice is husky, right in front of her face; she can feel that hot breath on her cheek.

"Breasts," he murmurs. "Tits. Boobs, jugs, knockers, hooters. Want to touch them, taste them, tease them...fuck them..."

Now it's out.

"My breasts?" she echoes. She's heard of it, never seen or fantasized about it, but hell, if he's going to ravish her breasts and leave her sex alone, she's all for it.

"Oh, yes," he breathes. She feels something hotter, softer, wetter on her nipple, his tongue, slowly circling and pressing, his finger pushing in to get wet and moving over to stroke the other nipple.

She feels like her breasts are pulse points, throbbing and sensitized, and she sighs, just a little. He removes his tongue and his hands encircle the smooth mounds, cupping and hefting them, palming them, pushing gently upward, then inward, so that they're pressed together and jutting out. He licks her nipples sloppily, like a lollipop, and she lets out a sharp "ah!" and he makes a "mm-hm" sound and flicks them with his tongue in turn, back and forth, until she's panting and arching up into his hands.

She's in some kind of strange zone, stimulated nearly out of her mind and hanging halfway to a climax, when the tongue that has been tormenting her breasts enters her mouth, suddenly, hungrily, and before she can think her tongue is fucking his and she's whimpering, for God's sake. She summons all her will and yanks her mouth away, turning her head, but he's undaunted.

"Everything about you tastes good," he tells her. "Maybe when I'm done with your tits I'll get to lick your pussy."

"Leave me alone," she mutters, uselessly, but it makes her feel the tiniest bit better saying it. She feels his weight shift on the bed as he straddles her hips, settling only part of his weight on her, enough for her to feel the tight bulge, barely contained by briefs, against her pelvis.

He leans down, arms braced on either side of her ribs, nuzzles her neck and breasts, lowers his mouth to tongue her nipples once more, hitting a rhythm now, back and forth, a nip of his lips, a sweep of the flat of his tongue, and she's almost back in that zone again when closes his mouth completely over as much of her breast as he can take, and sucks, hard.

She shrieks, with pain or pleasure she can't tell, and his hand is on her other breast, squeezing and rubbing and pinching the nipple as his mouth closes, lips sliding into a tighter circle, tongue pushing forward to latch on and suckle her aching flesh. It's infantile and obscene and the sounds he's making are - making her panties incredibly wet. She's shocked at herself. Oh God, how could she be enjoying this, on any level.

"Stop," she manages to say. "Please, stop. Don't do that - ah!" Another sharp gasp as he swaps hand and mouth and devours her other breast.

He keeps up the hypnotic rhythm and variation: flicking, sucking, groping, trading sides, and at last she's exhausted from squirming, to get closer or get away she no longer knows. The thighs she can't quite close are hot and damp, and her captor is rocking slightly on her, dragging his clothed balls up and down her skirt front. Even if she thrust upward, she knows, it wouldn't help satisfy her need.

She's just on the edge of pleasure morphing into pain, or numbness, when he stops suddenly, lifting his head and hand away from her and vacating his seat astride her body. He tosses something like a light fleece throw over her torso and without a word goes away from her. She hears water running in a sink, his feet coming back, and his hand cradles her head as he brings a straw to her lips.

"It's just water," he tells her. She's so thirsty she'd drink almost anything he gave her; she gulps it down, rolls the cool liquid around her mouth, gulps some more, finally letting her head fall back. Her breasts are throbbing, but not sore, and the fire between her legs has been banked a bit.

He climbs up on the bed again, this time placing his knees right up next to her waist, and he does something to make the top half of the bed move, tilting upward like a hospital bed. She understands now why her arms weren't stretched tight before; as the bed rises slowly, her arms are pulled wider, and the motion stops just as her bonds reach their limit. She's half-sitting now, arms spread out and down, and he cups the back of her neck and pulls her head forward to place a pillow behind her. Not behind her head, but between her shoulder blades, so that her chest is pushed out.

She can't move her torso now, at all. And she feels hair tickling her belly and knows that he's taken off his underwear, to prepare. For what?

"What are you doing?" she says anxiously. His hands come to cup and rub her breasts again, avoiding the nipples this time, applying something oily and fragrant all over and in between. He takes his hands away but she can hear him continuing to rub slickly over skin, his own no doubt.

"Just what I said," he replies. "I'm going to fuck your boobs. Is this your first time doing this?"

She nods dumbly and he breathes in sharply.

"That's so damn hot," he mutters. "Virgin tits. Here I come, beauties."

With that he takes a breast in each hand and rises up on his knees, enough to position a burning length of flesh between them, right against her sternum, rubbing softly. She can smell his arousal as well as feel it; his cock must be only inches from her face.

As if reading her mind, he says, "Don't even think about using those lovely teeth on me, dear. Whatever happens to me, you're still tied to my bed, and when I recover your punishment would be much less pleasant than this."

"Who says it's pleasant," she grumbles.

He laughs and presses her breasts inward, close against his cock. "It is, though. You should see the wet spot under your skirt. You want to come, you're so turned on, you're scared I'm going to hurt you or rape you...but you're even more scared that you're going to like it."

"Shut up."

He laughs again, one hand leaving her breast as he leans back slightly and yanks up the hem of her skirt.

"All I did before was peek," he tells her. "And I could see how wet you are." He spreads his big hand, palms her between her legs, squeezes briefly, sending her pulse rate up, then releases her and resumes his hold on her breasts.

"Now," he says, "I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked, and if you don't come by the time I'm finished I'm going to go down and suckle your clit just like I did to your nipples."

He's getting balanced and starting to rock, hands firmly pressing her breasts into a tight cleavage around his organ. She feels the head slide down, almost out of the soft vise, then the rough hair on his sex on the upthrust, scraping lightly just under the lower swell of her mounds. It sounds slippery and feels strange, but good, so good, being handled carefully but firmly, touched in a way she's never experienced. She moans softly and her hips undulate, longing for any contact, to no avail.

"That's it, baby," he whispers. "Feel it..."

Her nipples rub up against his taut belly with each thrust and she finds she's leaning into him; he catches her motion and shift his hands so he can thumb the hard nubs. Her head falls back as if in surrender and she moans again, louder.

"Yes," he coaxes. "You can do it, you can come from this...come for me, baby..."

She's glad now for the back support as he thrusts harder, in long smooth strokes, his hardness against her breastbone, the swollen head of his cock breaking the surface and jerking back down. His fingers tighten almost painfully on her breasts and he gasps out, "Oh yes...oh, God...oh, *fuck*..."

For a split second she's afraid he'll come on her face, but at the last moment, as a cry escapes his lips, he actually pushes his hips down and her breasts together even more tightly, and ejaculates into the now closed space between them instead of out the top. The thick fluid spills down, out of her cleavage, over her belly and she feels his legs and hands tremble with the effort to remain upright. She's trembling too, half in suspense and half with lust.

The wet sound as he releases her breasts and pulls his cock away from her skin is followed by the sensation of his hands smearing his semen over her breasts. A thumb is rubbed briefly over her lips, before she can avoid it, and his flavor lies on them like balm. She resists the temptation to lick it off - that's probably just what he wants - but she can taste the edges of it, a spicy maleness.

He finishes coating her with come, and she feels the bed recline once more; then the bonds circling her knees pull slowly taut, spreading her even wider as he pushes her tight skirt up around her waist. The pillow is still behind her, and he shift it down under her lower back, lifting her hips slightly. He rips the seams on her panties to get them off - no hose today - and she feels air cool on her wide-open sex.

"Please," she says yet again. "Don't - don't rape me. Don't hurt me."

"I swear I will never hurt you," he says in a low voice. "And I'm not going to have sex with you. I want to touch you, bring you pleasure...you didn't come...I want to see you come."

She shakes her head; in spite of her body's eager response to his treatment, her mind still doesn't want to allow him access to the raw lust she knows he'll see.

"Why?" she implores. "You got what you wanted. Let me go. Why are you doing this?"

"Because," he says, "I love you."

His mouth comes down to taste her breasts once more, taste his essence on her, and he lashes her nipples into hardness with his tongue, pauses, she hears him sucking something else, then discovers it's his fingers as his mouth returns to her breast and the wet fingers stroke the outer lips of her sex. He's lying pressed up against her side, tonguing and fingering her, probing deeper between her folds, up and down the sides, pressing the lips gently together, then parting them with dextrous care.

"Beautiful," he whispers. "Let your senses go, baby. You can't stop this. I'm not giving up until I hear you scream and pant and feel you coming in my hand..."

A finger pushes inside and she moans; it slips out, then slides back in, further, out, and another finger joins the first. He doesn't pump, really, just slides easily in and out, and his thumb angles upward to find the pulsing throb of her clitoris, just touches it as though to check its position, then moves away to rest against her mound.

She could try to thrust now, get this over with...

"Give it up," he murmurs.

...or she could try to make her mind a blank, refuse to cooperate...

"Stop thinking and just feel."

She tries to go limp, but it's more than her body can handle and she whimpers.

"That's it. Relax, sink into it...let it wash over you..."

His fingers are making insane motions inside her body, his thumb finds her clit again, his tongue alternately sucks her nipples and mutters encouragement.

She almost feels the moment when she gives up. A tingle sweeps over her whole body, her head tips back and she bucks up against his hand, which moves with her, stroking.

"Yessss...that's it, baby...Give it to me...let go..."

"Hands, I need my hands," she babbles. He seems to consider for a moment, then leans to one side and she feel the bonds slacken; she's still attached to them, with almost a full range of motion. Enough to bring her hands up to seize her breast with one hand and the back of his head with the other, holding his mouth on her nipple as she rides closer to orgasm...closer...he's fucking her with his fingers and she's fucking his mouth with her tit...

"Oh, God, YES," she yells, feeling her body peak and flood with ecstasy and spasm under his hand. Both her hands grip his hair and he growls into her breasts, a triumphant sound. Dimly she becomes aware of the bonds on her legs loosening as well, her limbs being completely released, the scraps of her clothing removed. She hasn't the energy to take off the blindfold, just lies limply as he comes up over her again on all fours -

\- and gently pulls the blindfold off. She looks up at him in the dim workshop light and smiles faintly.

"Fuck, Pepper," Tony says hoarsely. "I'm ready to explode, all over again. You wench."

"I didn't do anything," she protests, but he's already kissing her and lowering his body to ravish her again.


	3. Chapter 3

"So, if anything, um, comes up, you'll take care of it, right?"  
  
Tony grinned over at Pepper as she came out of the bathroom, swinging his legs a little from his seat by the window.  
  
"I'm ignoring youuuuu....alwaaayyyyys..." she sang under her breath. She came over and set a few items on a low table nearby; she was dressed in capris and a tank top, no shoes or socks, and her bright hair was subdued under a broad hairband.  
  
Tony was wearing only a towel, and he stood and whipped it off as she turned to face him.  
  
"Yes, very nice, Mr. Stark," she said in a bored, fake accent. "Please to lie down. On your belly."  
  
She had drawn out of the cookie jar this week, fortunately pulling something she already knew a little about: massage. She'd never given Tony one, though, and she knew exactly where his mind (as well as some other parts of his anatomy) would go with the idea. Not that there was anything wrong with massage as foreplay! But she wanted to remind Tony that not all touch has to be erotic.  
  
So she had borrowed a massage table from a friend, bought oils specially for the occasion, chosen the layout (Tony's bedroom, with the sun low in the sky), and studied up a bit on technique, and here they were. The sun was warm, the window was slightly open to admit a Malibu breeze and the roar of the ocean, and the house was secured against any intrusion from the outside world.  
  
Tony lay down on the table, settling his face in the cradle at the end and laying his arms straight out along his sides. Pepper draped a small towel over his backside and he snorted. His voice was slightly muffled as he inquired, "You've seen it before, Potts, what's with the modesty?"  
  
"I don't want to get too distracted," she smirked. She started at his feet, freshly scrubbed from the shower, applying just a little oil and taking it easy at first; she knew how her hands were going to ache by the time she was done with this. Fortunately he wasn't ticklish, but she used steady pressure anyway and he sighed and wiggled his toes.  
  
"Makes me remember I have feet," he murmured.  
  
"Mm-hmm," she said absently. She was regarding his body spread before her in the abstract sense, as a piece of sculpture or an engineering schematic. Which muscles and bones worked hardest, where the blood flow would be least effective, where tendons were most likely to be strained. A puzzle, actually. She worked up the back of one leg, then the other, stroking upward toward his heart.  
  
His heart. The supposed site of a man's soul, the muscle that had nearly died were it not for the RT, the organ which, provided the reactor were intact, could conceivably survive for decades, safe from its metallic stalkers. She'd had her hand inside the socket once, not thinking until later that she practically held his life in her hands at the time.  
  
And for months now, though he seemed his usual physically confident self, she'd noticed that he no longer allowed much of the clingy body contact regularly offered by most women (and some men): no arms draped around their shoulders, never dancing as close to them as he once did, and certainly not appearing without a shirt as much as previously. She didn't mistake this behavior for modesty on his part - he was just as brash and suggestive as always! - but thought that maybe it was born of his experience in captivity. Not touching, wanting not to be touched, at least not by murderers and terrorists. Needing a larger personal space than before.  
  
Now she wondered...but she'd save that conversation for later. She had reached his deliciously distracting ass, pulled off the towel, worked diligently over his glutes, feeling him shift and flex under her oiled palms. At one point he lifted his hips a little, reaching his hand under to adjust something, and she smirked again but didn't pause.  
  
"Breathe deeply," she told him. "Think about your lungs, feel the air moving in and out."  
  
"Don't say that."  
  
"What, lungs?"  
  
"No, 'in and out'."  
  
She giggled and replaced the towel over his backside, moving to the other side of him and starting on his lower back and arms. By the time she got to the nape of his neck he was practically purring and the sun was low on the horizon.  
  
"God, that's good," he moaned as she ran her fingers over his scalp, through his hair, using her fingertips to rub small circles over the thin skin. "I think I'm getting a head rush."  
  
She smoothed his hair back into a semblance of tidiness and took a bath sheet, covering him from toes to shoulders with it.  
  
"I'm not done yet," she told him. "Stay right there."  
  
Pepper went back into the bathroom and brought out a water bottle for herself, and one for Tony with a straw in it; she took a break for five minutes, watching his face as she sat on the floor looking up at him.  
  
"You're wasted as a PA," Tony said. "I'm going to add this to your duties."  
  
"I'm an amateur."  
  
"A gifted amateur," he insisted.  
  
"Only because I know you," she replied. "I've never given a full-body massage to a man before, let alone a naked one. Let alone a hot naked one with whose body I'm passingly familiar."  
  
"Passingly?"  
  
"There are parts of you that I'm seeing for the first time in broad daylight," she said dryly. "Up close, anyway. I don't count the nude beach sightings from a distance."  
  
"You could have joined me. I was waving at you."  
  
Part of you was waving, she thought; aloud she said, "I'm a natural redhead, Tony. Sunshine and nudity are a losing combination for me. Besides, I think you were providing quite enough of a show."  
  
"It's Cipriani. It's Italy. Naked men are part of their culture. Look at all the ancient artifacts."  
  
"Turn over now," she said, getting up and chugging her water.  
  
When he was stretched out on his back, once more with his privates demurely veiled, she went back to his feet and began the routine over, working her way up. The front of him regularly took more of a beating than the back, either from reckless sports activity, workshop experiments, or missions. People tended to shoot at him when they saw him approach, and while his armor held, there was still bruising. She went easy over one thigh that had a healing yellowish-blue tinge.  
  
She avoided his groin area for the most part, though there was obvious interest stirring under the towel. When she looked up at his face, his eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly; she thought he'd fallen asleep until he said softly, "I missed the sun, you know?"  
  
"In Afghanistan?" she asked, and he nodded.  
  
"I went for days without ever seeing it. Sometimes they'd let me out at night, and the stars, damn, they were like a carpet...over the sky..." He opened his eyes and turned his face toward the sunset. "And the sun there - it's different, anyway. I know it's the same sun, it sounds stupid - "  
  
"No, not stupid," she said gently. "It felt different to you. That's all that matters."  
  
He nodded and fell silent for a while. Pepper worked on his arms, scarred and calloused hands, closing the window as the breeze cooled quickly in the fading light. She was struck by the discovery that the glow from the RT gave her enough light to continue.  
  
Her hands moved up to his shoulders, back down to his abs - another distraction! - and then came to rest on his chest, lying flat on either side of the metal implant. He was gazing steadily at her, as if waiting for a reaction.  
  
Practically, she said, "Tell me if you feel any discomfort," and resumed massaging his pecs and intercostal area. Around the RT she pressed lightly, gauging where the flesh and skin were displaced or stretched; it was amazing what the human body could take and still continue to thrive, she thought.  
  
"No one else ever touches me there."  
  
His voice broke the silence; he sounded almost - pensive?  
  
"Lucky me," she said lightly, starting to work the tendons in his neck.  
  
"I'm not embarrassed about it or anything," he went on. "It's just - I don't know, I feel like it's even more private than my privates, does that make sense?"  
  
Pepper stopped the motion of her hands and met his eyes.  
  
"It does, actually," she murmured.  
  
"Flashing my junk in public - it's like a game, a sport," he said with a gleam of mischief.  
  
"It pays to advertise?" she said blandly and he grinned.  
  
"But this - " he tapped the ring on his chest and his smile faded a little. "This is my life, my purpose. It's like the old saying about wearing your heart on your sleeve. Except it's on my chest."  
  
He reached up and took one of her hands in his, and laid them together over the blue glow.  
  
"And it's yours, Potts. It's all yours."  
  
She swallowed hard.  
  
"Lucky me," she whispered shakily.  
  
Tony took her hand and rolled off the table, led her over to the bed, where he stripped off her few clothes and held her close against his warm, oil-scented skin until they both went to sleep, satisfied in a way with which even sexual delight could not compare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "massage".


	4. Busted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More roleplaying; Tony gets pulled over and frisked by badass Officer Potts.

“Pull over and stop the car.”

 

 _Why did voices always sound more menacing over a bullhorn?_ thought Tony Stark as he took his time drifting over to the shoulder. _This is like a bad cop movie. I wasn’t going that fast - everybody hits seventy going through the canyon._

 

The shoulder was gravelly and overgrown and Tony didn’t like the idea of getting the Audi’s  paint job scratched up, so he rolled a little further, intending to turn down a maintenance road off the main road.

 

“Pull over and stop the car. Now.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Tony muttered, yanking the wheel over and turning more sharply than he’d intended; with a final screech of rubber, he slammed on the brakes and switched off the car. High beams from the vehicle behind him blazed into his rear view mirrors and he squinted, trying to see whether it was city, county, or state that had pulled him over.

 

“Get out of the car and put your hands on your head.”

 

Even without the bullhorn, that voice was impressive. Tony placed his hands on the wheel to show he was unarmed and called over his left shoulder, “Hey, is that necessary? Don’t you just want to see my license and - “

 

“Out of the car.”

 

The voice was right there, in his right ear, and before he could turn his head to catch a glimpse of its owner, the headlights behind him went out, leaving him blinking for a moment, a moment in which he felt cold metal clamped over his wrists and a warm hand slapped over his mouth.

 

“Too late,” said that voice, more quietly, almost sultry. Warm flesh pressed against his jaw, someone jamming their head against his to try to keep him from turning. His captor growled, “Shoulda followed orders, smart guy.”

 

The roar of an engine and the squeal of tires alerted Tony to the fact that the car that had chased him down was reversing and fleeing the scene. The moment his attention returned to his situation, he realized three things. One, someone had cuffed his right hand to the steering wheel. Two, someone had confiscated his car keys from the ignition so that, even if he’d had some idea of peeling out and driving home in spite of the cuffs, he couldn’t start the car. Even left-handed.

 

Three, which he noted as he raised his head and glared over the dashboard, his captor was female. Red-headed, dressed in a severe black suit and sporting a holster, which he hoped only carried a Taser and nothing more lethal.

 

She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring back at him without a trace of amusement, and Tony felt almost equal parts of amazement and trepidation.

 

“Is there a problem, Officer?” he said, going for cautious cooperation.

 

“There is, Mr. Stark,” she said sternly. “We have reason to believe you’re carrying contraband somewhere on your person. Not in the car - we searched it with a fine tooth comb and a canine drug sniffer, back in the garage at your company.”

 

“You can’t do that without a warrant!” he protested, adding hastily, “And I’m not in possession of anything illegal, anyway.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

She came closer, gestured at him.

 

“Get out.”

 

“What?” He really was confused now. “How?”

 

She sighed and said with painful emphasis, “Climb out over the door; you can do it with your hand still cuffed. Do it. Now.”

 

“Or - ?”

 

“I have Mace, if you need encouragement.”

 

She wouldn’t - would she? Tony had the feeling his prowess at talking his way out of previous infractions was dead in the water.

 

“Okay,” he grumbled. “But if I break my arm getting out, I’m suing your ass from here to the Bahamas.”

 

She didn’t even seem to notice he was talking, also not a good sign. He clambered over the door with exaggerated care and landed on his feet, facing the car. He couldn’t straighten up with his wrist attached to the steering wheel, so the best he could manage was an awkward attempt at a casual slouch.

 

The sun was setting - it had just slid behind a hill - and Tony wondered how long he was going to be stuck here.

 

“Where’d your taxi go?” he asked.

 

“None of your business.” She strolled around to stand behind him and slightly to the right, so he had to crane his neck to keep an eye on her.

 

“I do a great DUI exercise - wanna see it? All you have to do is unchain me - “

 

“That might work on some other females, Mr. Stark,” she said dryly. “It’s wasted on me. I know you’re not drunk, or high. I have a lot of experience spotting that sort of thing from a distance. I just want to know what it is you’re trying to hide. And where.”

 

“Nothing,” he insisted. “I have nothing to hide. Go ahead and search me.”

 

At last an expression crossed her otherwise impassive face, and Tony didn’t think he liked it. She looked like the cat just before it ate the canary.

 

“I thought you’d never ask,” she replied. Taking off the holster, she laid it and a couple of other items carefully out of his reach on a nearby rock.

 

“Hands on the car, Mr. Stark.”

 

Resigned, Tony turned to face the car and placed one hand on the hood just in front of the windshield; his other arm hung suspended, secured, stretched over the door of the convertible.

 

He sensed the woman coming up behind him just before her hands landed on his shoulders and started groping the outside of his clothing. Tony knew he could knock her down, even tethered as he was, but a. he still couldn’t go anywhere (he’d never had to hot-wire a car with one hand), b. she could come back at him with the Mace or whatever was in that holster, and besides, c. he was getting felt up by a beautiful redhead. There were worse things.

 

She finished with his shoulders and arms and started down the sides of his torso. Tony thanked God he wasn’t ticklish, merely swayed under her grasp as though enjoying a massage.

 

“You’re good,” he told her as she patted his hips and down the outside of his legs. “This is just like the cop shows. Who are you working for, really? - Hey!”

 

The exclamation burst from him, prompted by the pair of feminine hands which had worked their way up the inside of his legs and were now squeezing his thighs, pushing his legs further apart and investigating the crotch of his jeans.

 

“Watch it with the valuables,” he growled. “What the hell kind of search is this?”

 

“A very thorough search, Mr. Stark,” she drawled. “I’m going to make my way back up now. Try to relax.”

 

For a woman who’d just been poking around the Stark family jewels, she had some nerve telling him to relax. He was suddenly hyper-aware of every touch, every slide of her hand over fabric, every prod of her fingers. Now she was moving up the backs of his legs, rising to stand behind him again.

 

“Nothing in your pockets?” she said, squeezing his ass firmly. “Good call. I wouldn’t want to spoil the shape of that ass, either.”

 

“So glad you approve,” he muttered, then flinched as her hands slid around to push into his front pants pockets.

 

“Nothing in here either?” she noted. He could feel her pressed against his back as she rummaged. “Oh yes, I guess Tony Stark wouldn’t need to carry a wallet, or any money.”

 

“Just my car keys,” he snapped. “Which I’d better be getting back, soon.”

 

She made no comment; her hands pulled slowly out of his pockets, relieving a little of the strain on his fly; cop or no cop, having a woman’s hands that close to his dick made it sit up and take notice, just a little.

 

Her hands slid up his chest, but under his knit shirt, even under his t-shirt, to rest on either side of the RT. Tony shivered as her fingers circled his pecs, zeroing in on his nipples, which she toyed with for a minute and then tweaked, before pulling her hands out again.

 

“So you’re not after the RT,” he guessed and heard her chuckle scornfully.

 

“We know all about the RT, Mr. Stark. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

 

“We? We, who? Why don’t you just tell me what - “

 

“Quiet,” she ordered. “I’m not done yet.”

 

She leaned back a little and yanked up the hem of his shirts, tugged them up and over his head until they were twisted between his upper arms, over his chest. Tony’s mouth opened to protest this half-disrobing - but snapped shut again when he felt her hands unfastening the button on his jeans.

 

He ducked his chin to watch those white, slender hands expertly open his fly and push his jeans low on his hips, not quite over his backside. For some reason it didn’t even occur to him to use his free hand to pull them up.

 

“Tighty whities,” she murmured appreciatively. She ran her palm over the front of his briefs and Tony sucked in a breath as his organ responded.

 

“Nuh - nothing to see here, officer,” he managed to say. “Move along.”

 

“Oh, but there is, Mr. Stark,” she purred. “I have to investigate every possible means of concealment.”

 

“Why don’t you search my shoes, then?” he suggested half-heartedly; her hands had moved again and were once more fondling his ass cheeks like they were ripe melons, over the inadequate protection of his underwear.

 

“I’ll get to that, eventually.”

 

His jeans were pulled down around his knees, and finally he felt her warm skin against his as her hands sank between his briefs and his buttocks. Tony moaned at the soft prick of her nails digging into his flesh, rubbing and pulling and parting...

 

“Fuck,” he gasped when she pressed a knuckle against his anus. Before he could stop himself he had pushed back into her touch - to no avail; she yanked her hand out of his skivvies and smacked him a good one on the butt.

 

“Language, Mr Stark,” she scolded. “I am a lady, in spite of the badge and uniform. Behave yourself.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony said breathlessly. Her hands were both on the move, coming round his waist to stroke the bulge between his legs. He didn’t know whether to hope or fear that she might take liberties with it.

 

“What have we here?” she said. “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

 

She squeezed him a couple of times, making him flinch again, and then she came around his left side and stood at his shoulder.

 

“Put your hand behind your head,” she barked. “And don’t try anything or I’ll strip your gears.”

 

Her gaze dropped pointedly to his crotch. Tony quickly relocated his left hand, cupping the back of his head and turning slightly so she could stand in front of him. She ogled him up and down, once, then reached to unbutton her jacket.

 

“Oh, so it’s your turn now?” Tony grinned. She shot him a look, took her time sliding the garment off her shoulders; under it she wore a cream-colored shell, and a bra that was insufficient to hide the swell of her nipples underneath. She folded the jacket and dropped it on the ground, then knelt on it to inspect his groin.

 

Her hands were everywhere - cradling his balls, poking around and under his ass, fingering the fabric stretched over his erection as though reading Braille. He let out a groan when she pulled down the elastic waistband, just far enough to clear his balls, and sat back on her heels to take in the view.

 

By now he had gauged that she wasn’t bent on bodily harm, so he took a chance.

 

“Like it?” he panted.”It’s all yours. Just - let me go. You can do whatever you want, just let me go.”

 

“I can do whatever I want,” she smirked, “and leave you here afterward.”

 

“You’ve had your fun, come on. You got me where you want me. Don’t waste your chance, now.”

 

He was babbling, he knew it and she knew it, and she smiled more broadly and curled her fingers around his length.

 

“Oh, yes,” she said softly – and then she stood up, leaving him half-naked with his aching cock pointing right at her.

 

“Turn around and put your free hand behind your back.”

 

“What kind of twisted parlor game is – agh!” This as she took hold of his protrusion and squeezed it judiciously. “Okay, okay, I’m turning.”

 

Now his back was to the car, his right arm twisted uncomfortably sideways, his left tucked behind him as ordered. She had released his cock and leaned into the car; he heard a faint clink, then felt her grab his left wrist and secure it with the handcuffs. Now his hands were cuffed together behind his back; the relief to his arms and back was enormous.

 

“Now,” said his tormentor briskly, her hands gripping his wrists, “back up.”

 

Tony stumbled back as she led from behind and soon found himself facing the rear of the Audi. The sun had sunk even lower and in the twilight he could see the redhead silhouetted against the white car. Particularly since she had climbed up on the hood and planted her feet on the bumper.

 

Holding his twisted shirt, now stretched tight across his chest, she pulled him close, close enough to see the anticipation in her eyes.

 

“You’re going to do as I say, aren’t you, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Um…Yow! Yes, I will. Yes, ma’am.” She had dropped her hand to seize his cock again.

 

“You do as I tell you and you and I will both remember this incident fondly. If you don’t…” She let the sentence hang with unspoken threats.

 

“What do you want me to do?” Tony asked desperately. In spite of her attitude and his confusion, his cock knew exactly what it wanted, pulsing in her hand, suddenly cool as she let go.

 

She shifted, still holding his shirt, and shimmied her ass until her skirt was hiked up around her hips. She spread her knees wide, watching his face as he registered her complete lack of undergarments. His mouth began to water.

 

“On your knees,” she directed. “Make me come, and I’ll think about letting you.”

 

Tony Stark sank into the dirt as the woman scooted herself right to the edge of the hood and leaned back on her hands. For all his bragging about things he could do “with my hands behind my back”, it had been a while since he’d done it this way – and had ever involved semi-public nudity or law enforcement. Not real law enforcement, anyway…

 

He pulled his thoughts together and shuffled as close as he could to the car, his head and shoulders at the level of her waist. He gave her one burning look, then dropped his butt down on his heels, putting his face between her open thighs.

 

He started by kissing the soft skin on either side of his head, rubbing his hair over her like a cat marking its territory, feeling her shiver. His mouth traveled inward until his nose just brushed her silky mound, then opened his mouth wider and breathed warmly over it, pushing his tongue out to touch the place where her lips met.

 

It was her turn to flinch and gasp; her hips shifted forward, but Tony was not going to let her off easily. He moved back slightly with her, then continued with his slow exploration, tracing up and down, swirling circles over each side, pressing just the tip of his tongue between her folds.

 

She grabbed his hair in apparent frustration and he chuckled, the sound muffled against her sex. Now his lips fumbled to spread her, inhaling deeply through his nose and humming as he burrowed.

 

Her legs were spread as wide as she could open them and he could feel her knees shaking. His tongue found her entrance, lapped at it for a minute, barely noticing the pleasurable ache in his jaw in the quest to reach as far in as he could.

 

Tony tilted his head from side to side, sinking deeper, wiggling his tongue up through her labia until he reached a spot just below her clitoris. She was moaning and rocking, trying to get him where she wanted him., but he was going to do this his way, dammit, handcuffs or no handcuffs.

 

He pulled his mouth off her entirely, to the sound of her angry, “Noooo!” and then, having assessed his target and trajectory, he leaned in, pushed his tongue back between her labia and set his upper lip, covering his teeth, at the top of her sex, just above where her clit was nestled. Then he slid his tongue up and lashed at her clit while his lip pressed down, catching her in a hot wet vise.

 

She screamed and jerked and he followed her motions, clinging to her with lips and tongue while she roller-coastered through climax upon climax. The car rocked gently.

 

When Tony felt her legs begin to relax, he detached his mouth and rose on his knees to survey the field of victory. She lay on her back on the hood, panting, hands gripping her rumpled skirt. Her eyes rolled downward to meet his, barely focusing, and he got to his feet and leaned carefully forward.

 

He couldn’t get very far without bumping his cock on the car, but she met him, one hand grabbing the back of his neck, her mouth flying up to slam into his. She kissed him for several oxygen-deprived moments, then broke contact and gasped, “Do it, do it…”

 

She didn’t have to spell that one out. Tony got as close as he could, his knees against the bumper, feet spread as wide as possible with his pants around his ankles, and she slid down until her ass was half off the hood. At the first touch of her slick heat on his cock Tony groaned. Did she expect him to hit the bulls-eye, so to speak, without use of his hands?

 

Mercifully, she did not. The glow of the RT was the only light left, illuminating her pale hand as she groped to find his length and guide the head in. He pushed gently, got in about halfway, adjusted his stance a bit, and felt her wrap her legs around him as he started to thrust.

 

It was a careful balancing act, trying to keep his feet without the use of his arms, leaning over her but not far enough to fall on her, above all wanting to give in to the urge to lose control. He groaned in frustration and anticipation. Then he felt her legs release him and brought his eyes to focus in the dim light.

 

She lay back on the car and braced her feet on the bumper, slid down as far as possible and met his plunging hips with her own. He stared down at her half-clothed, wanton form and the car rocking and bouncing under their combined motion, and the vision of fucking both her and the car shot him over the edge.

 

He let out a howl of triumph and pushed against her, pinning her against the hood and hearing her incoherent cry as she came again, and wrapped her legs around him, this time to help him keep his feet. Just as his head dropped onto his chest, she sat up and caught him in her arms.

 

He felt her release the handcuffs, heard them fall to the ground behind him, and his arms came up around her. After several moments of mumbled endearments and heavy breathing, Pepper lifted her head and gave him the slow grin of satisfaction that he was becoming familiar with.

 

“If that isn’t a moving violation,” she said, “I don’t know what is.”

 

He grinned back and started hauling at his clothing, trying to get his ass covered and his shirts back on; she slid off the car and rearranged her skirt, then went over to pick up his car keys and her hardware. When she came back, Tony had picked up the handcuffs and stood with them hanging out of his pocket.

 

“We might need these again someday,” he explained.

 

“Waste not, want not,” she agreed.

 

“Who was your partner in crime?” he asked, opening the door for her and handing her into the car.

 

“Manny from Security,” she said. “I told him I wanted to scare you, and he was all over the idea. His car has lights and a bullhorn, and I told him that once we got you to pull over you’d give me a ride home.”

 

“Manny,” Tony mused as he started the car. “Remind me to give him a raise.”


End file.
